


and don't sing me your songs about the good times

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Katie Fitch does </i>not<i> say sorry. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	and don't sing me your songs about the good times

Katie Fitch does  _not_  say sorry.   
  
She never has, not really. Maybe once or twice she's mumbled it, back when she and Emily were little and used to get into fights; their mum would always make them apologize to each other. As if that just magically fixed things. But Katie'd never meant the  _sorry_ -s she'd said. Not once. Not even a little bit. She only said it to appease their mum, really. And everyone had always seemed to be okay with in, sincere or not. Why  
bother to actually mean it anyway?  
  
When she got older, Katie stopped apologizing all together. It just seemed pointless; no one  _really_  cared; everyone would always just get over whatever it was  
anyway. That was how these things went. It didn't matter if she was having a row with her boyfriend or Emily or her friends. They always came back in the end, always forgave her without even having to be asked.  
  
This time though, it's different.  
  
This time, she's met with a resigned sigh from Emily and a sorry that couldn't possibly be more of a lie. This time she's faced with the slamming of the front door, the sound of her mum's shouting, and the painful, empty silence that comes last, heavy and overwhelming and entirely unexpected.   
  
This time, Emily doesn't forgive her. And she doesn't come back either.  
  
  
  
  
Emily doesn't want her there. At the house.  _Her_  house, as she calls it.  
  
Katie knows it's her own fault, at least a little. She'd never thought, before, about what an Emily-less life would be like.   
  
(Well, she'd  _thought_  about it, but somehow it had always been better than . . . better than  _this_. This was just -- )  
  
Fine, stay here, Emily snaps, livid. Don't expect me to care, 'cause I  _don't_.  
  
It hurts, a little. Maybe more than it should. Emily's pushed her away before, of course, mostly while she was off 'discovering herself' all summer -- which, Katie knew, meant she was off shagging Naomi non-stop, the fucking lezza -- but this wasn't the same. Before, it was mostly:  _Leave off, Katie, you're being a bother_. Said with annoyance but also with a hint of a smile. But now it's:  _Fuck off, Katie. I don't need you. Or want you. Never did._  And there is no almost-smile here, not even a kind of softness behind her words. Not like before, when she only half-meant things.  
  
Things are different now. Katie isn't sure of when they changed.  
  
  
  
  
She didn't expect that -- Naomi cheating.  
  
She thinks she should have, but she didn't. It's still not enough to keep her from slapping Emily just before she spirals completely out of control and hurts  _everyone_  in the process, but -- well, it's not like she wanted that. For Emily to get her heartbroken.   
  
In the bath, washing up after Thomas has left, she thinks about Emily, thinks about the look on Naomi's face when Emily kissed one of the random girls someone had brought along to the party. Thinks about all of the times she'd wished that they would just break the fuck  _up_ , because really, she couldn't stand to be around them, like, ever. Fucking lezzas, with their soft touches and knowing smiles and kisses that looked to nice to be real.  
  
But she hadn't wanted --  
  
  
  
  
Emily, crying, in bed.   
  
Katie can't remember when she's seen Emily like this. It's not like when Emily came home one Monday with a smudge of dirt across her cheek and a leaf stuck to her jumper and eyes that looked red from crying. It's not like right before the Love Ball, when Emily sat, dejected, on the edge of her bed looking like a kicked puppy.  
  
This was different.   
  
Broken, Katie thinks, and her heart tightens up into a knot and she almost feels like crying herself, but she  _can't_  because she's Katie fucking Fitch and she just doesn't --   
  
Hey, Katie murmurs against Emily's ear, slipping onto the mattress beside Emily and wrapping an arm around her. Emily sniffs and buries her face against Katie's shoulder, crying in that soft way that Katie hates, because it makes everything seem that much more painful.  
  
Hey, Katie says again, as Emily clings to her, knitting her fingers into the front of Katie's shirt with quiet desperation.  
  
(It's the first time she's ever -- )  
  
Sorry.


End file.
